


Bone Deep

by Corvus_Aconitum



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of trauma, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguments and Making up, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Medical Inaccuracies possible, Nick Whump, Nick and Juliette are idiots in love, Renard cares, dash of gore and horror, much fluff and care within all the angst, oh yeah... no permanent injuries, s01e10 Organ Grinder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 15:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13527618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvus_Aconitum/pseuds/Corvus_Aconitum
Summary: Alternative story line to Organ Grinder:What if Nick had been abducted instead of Gracie and taken to the organ harvesting site along with Hanson? Hank and Renard move heaven and hell to get to them in time, but being rescued is only one thing. Coping with the aftermath of horror is quite another.When things become too much and Nick is in desperate need of help, Renard is there.... He's the calming presence that he needs.... just like he's been back at the lab.





	Bone Deep

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been in my head for nearly a year and finally I've finished it! It contains (and don't they all) a BIG portion of Nick Whump and care, along with all due horror a lab, where human organs are harvested, tends spread. But don't worry, the horror part isn't the main focus in this.  
> Enjoy (and bear with me for heaping more Nick Whump onto you all).

 

** Bone Deep: **

 

They have finally found the link between organ supplier and harvesting ring. It is the very same medical clinic where the street kids Gracie and Hanson have been treated at. Implications of this make for an unsettling feeling in both Detective's guts. Nick frowns down at the telephone number which has lead them to the clinic. They've found it on the supplier's cell phone after taking him up at an assortment of greenhouse like tents, where organs of all kinds have been laid out to dry. It's been a disgusting and above all a chilling sight.

 

The Grimm looks up at his partner, reading the same concern and disquiet there that must show on his own face.

“I want to check on those kids again, see if I can find them. I have a bad feeling about all this, Hank. How about you inform Renard and we meet at that trice cursed clinic as soon as possible?”

“Sounds good to me. Go check on the kids. Better safe than sorry. I'm going to round up troops and drive to the clinic after I've talked to the Captain.

 

>>>

 

Just as Nick gets inside his car, his phone rings. He taking it out and seeing the caller id, he groans.

 

_Juliette. Damn it, I've completely forgotten that we agreed to meet for a dinner date. Telling her I won't make it, won't go over well... not when she's angry at me already._

 

Guilty conscience makes his innards twist as he thinks back to earlier today. They've been about to drive home together when he's got the call about the case. Her look of reproach, which has quickly changed to one of resignation, has cut right into him, because, hell, he's been powerless to do anything about her hurt feelings.

In the end he's managed to mollify her somewhat but with this call all will go to shambles again.

He takes up with a silent sigh.

“Hey, love.”

“Hey, babe. I hope you haven't forgotten that we are due to meet at _Devito's_ in half an hour.”

Her tone is mischievous, vivacious and so much his beloved Juliette that his next words feel like dust on his tongue.

“I haven't forgotten but I....”

“Oh Nick, no. Come on, you promised. What can be so important that you call off our date two times in one day?”

“We had a break-through in our case. Juliette, we have to save those kids. One is already dead and one still missing and I cannot let it happen again. I would like nothing more than to spend the evening with you but this is important. I... cannot let them hurt more people.”

“I know those kids are important, but why can't it be someone else saving the world this one...?! (She interrupts herself with a huff.) Well, at least _you_ know where you'll find me, won't you, Nick Burkhardt? _I_ am not the one always away on some sort of chase or wild hunt. Good night.”

Her harsh words are like a punch in the gut and make guilty conscience rear its head. She ends the call before he can answer.

 

_Damn it!!_

 

He hits the steering wheel in anguish.

 

_You did a wonderful job, didn't you, Nick? Why weren't you able to put her above work one effing time?!_

 

He knows the answer already and with it comes an ache that is not about guilty conscience but about why she cannot see the necessity of this.

 

_Wait, no that's not fair. She has acknowledged its importance, but she is still angry with me. And I cannot even fault her, can I?_

 

He wants nothing more than to drive to his love and make her happy but doing that would mean abandoning those teens to a terrible fate.

 

_It's about kids. Their life is at stake. I cannot let them get hurt._

 

>>>

 

He searches the streets around where Gracie has sold her pucca shell necklaces earlier today. One of those still rests heavily in the back pocket of his jeans. He's bought it for Juliette but hasn't gotten around to giving it to her. He pushes these thoughts away, must focus back on work now.

 

Not seeing them anywhere, he just contemplates driving to meet Hank, when suddenly he hears shouts and screams! They are in a scarcely inhabited run down area. Nick draws his gun and runs in direction of the voices. He recognizes them! It's Gracie and Hanson!

 

Turning the corner he spots them not far away, a man... no, not any man... the office manager from that clinic is trying to manhandle the teens into a white van!

“Portland PD! Let the kids go at once and keep your hands where I can see them!”

His voice is one of steel when he bellows out this warning. The Geier turns around to him with a frantic look, woging, gauging his chances....

 

“Freeze at once! I repeat, get away from the children and surrender!”

It feels like an eternity. Gracie's frightened cries, Hanson's gasping breaths showing fear when he cannot bring himself to voice it. Finally the Geier steps away from the children and Nick heaves a tiny imperceptible sigh of relief. Keeping his gun trained at the man he approaches, rattling off standard Police cautioning and the charges broad up against him as he goes.

 

His left hand motions for the teens to move aside, then he takes his handcuffs off his belt.

 

“Don't try anything. Turn around with your hands raised above your head!”

He is about to cuff the perp – Gracie's fast, irregular breathing still ringing in his ears – when the Geier moves! He fires his gun. The creature is too fast... so damn fast! He dodges the bullets and attacks.

His gun is slapped out of his hand! Streaks of fiery pain, deep gauges inflicted where he's held it moments before.

“Arrgh!”

Nick recovers quickly but not quick enough. A vicious kick to his chest sends him flying. The Geier wastes no time. He slams Hanson to the ground with a punch and snatches Gracie's arm even as she backs away.

 

_NO!! I cannot let him take them!_

The Grimm scrambles to his feet and barrels into the man full force! They crash to the ground, he shouts at Gracie to run and get help!

He's still fighting for control with the manager when some kind of metal bar comes down hard on his back. All breath is driven out of him as pain explodes across his shoulder blades.

 

_A second one. There is a second one... the driver.... Has to be the driver._

 

Everything after that is a blur. He tries to fight back, tries to keep them from pulling Hanson into the van, but before he can so much as get up, a hypodermic needle is driven into the side of his neck and his world goes black.

 

>>>

 

He wakes up lying on the floor alongside of Hanson, bound with ropes and jostled by the van's drive through uneven terrain. At first he is entrapped in a haze of sluggish half-thoughts but his Grimm side is enough to make narcotics' effect wear off fairly quickly. He tests the bindings but to no avail. Hanson is out as well. The way the teen is breathing tells him that even in the darkness.

He fights off a feeling of profound panic and forces himself to think with a cool head. Going by the sounds from outside they are driving through wilderness of some kind.

 

_Most likely going somewhere in the forest. I have to get free. It's our only chance._

 

He tries to wriggle out of his bindings but only manages to reopen the gashes on his hand. It bleeds enough to make for some slickness at least. He continues to twist and pull, grits his teeth when he's rubbed the skin on his wrists raw enough to start bleeding as well.

 

The ride takes forever and he cannot gauge where exactly they are going by sounds alone. He keeps in a frustrated growl. He's managed to loosen his ties enough to have a wider range of motion as they are bound behind his back but that is all.

Hanson waking up in a panicked haze distracts him from that and he spends the next minutes talking to the frightened youth in a tone as soft and reassuring as he can muster.

They haven't bothered with tying up Hanson, so he tries undoing Nick's bindings. It's of no use. They have been pulled tight with brutal strength and that they are slippery with his blood now becomes a serious disadvantage.

“Damn it! I cannot get them open! They are not loosening even an inch! I'm sorry.”

Tears of frustration have sprung to his eyes. Nick cannot see them in the dark but he hears it in his tone.

“It's okay. It's okay. Don't worry. Just keep trying. If you cannot get them undone I will find some other way get us to safety.” He soothes in a whisper.

Hanson keeps trying, after effects of the narcotic further hindering his actions, but they both know it is to no avail. They can only await their fate and, damn it, isn't that a terrifying thought!

 

>>>

 

After informing the Captain of their findings, they agree that Renard will assemble a group for the take down mission while Hank will call Nick to inform him about time and place of their meeting. Then it's on to the clinic and hopefully directly to the harvesting location from there.

 

When Hank tries calling his partner, however, all he gets is a dead line. Dread pools in his gut.

 

_This is not good! Nick not answering his phone is one thing but getting nothing whatsoever bad!_

 

He finds Renard in his office. At seeing Hank, a hooded, carefully calculating expression comes to his face. Of course the man already guesses that something is amiss, he is perceptive as hell, after all.

If anyone thinks Renard is an uncaring person, they are wrong. Their Captain cares... cares a lot about his subordinates actually, he just knows how to keep it from showing and clouding his judgment.

 

“Captain, I cannot reach Nick on his phone. There's nothing. Not even anything to indicate a line being established. Frankly, I'm worried. He's wanted to check on those street kids he's interviewed earlier. The ones who knew the first vic and were treated at Folter Clinic as well.”

 

“You are right. That doesn't sound like Nick. Either his cell is damaged or he is somewhere without signal. Neither is reassuring. Continue trying to reach him. We are going to that clinic right now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Captain and Detective set out with long determined strides. They will not let anyone harm those children or Nick.

 

>>>

 

The Captain makes the single nurse still left at Folter Clinic spill the beans with frightening efficiency and without so much as laying a hand on her, meanwhile Wu is send out with Franco to investigate in the area. News that they've found Nick's cellphone, which has obviously been driven over by some heavy vehicle, are unsettling to say the least.

 

The Captain calls precinct to give last orders before setting out but is interrupted by a commotion in the background at the station and then the Officer on line tells him that a girl named Gracie has just come in, frantic and clearly in shock, and told them that her brother and Detective Burkhardt have been taken by two men.

 

They waste no time. Hank and Renard take the charger while a swat team will set out from precinct to join them.

 

>>>

 

They are roughly grabbed and hauled out of the van, taking it as quietly as they can. Nick has explained to the teen that they need to stay calm and wait for a chance to flee. If they kick up a fuss right away, they'll just be subdued again and that will put them at mercy of a ring of organ dealers. Not that Nick has told Hanson exactly that. He's frightened enough already and still groggy from their first encounter with hypodermic needles, which doesn't help his case any.

 

Seeing Nick's bloodied wrists – evidence of his attempt to free himself – gets him a dirty look and a punch to his gut. Groaning he doubles over, fearing for a terrible moment that they will put him down on principle. They don't. Nick barely keeps in a relieved exhale. He needs to keep a low profile and protect Hanson. Keeping the child safe is his highest priority.

 

They are led along some forest track up to a group of sheds and wooden cabins. First in line is Nick under sharp observation, then Hanson, under less close scrutiny for he is perceived less of a threat. The Grimm's trained gaze takes up a few disquieting facts.

Their location: Remote, the way back to safety long and going through terrain, where the Geier are at a clear advantage.

A large fire pit next to the stairs leading to the buildings. A way to get rid of already harvested bodies?

More than one cabin, which minimizes chances of a quick rescue, even if the others find out where they've been brought.

 

A cold shiver runs down his spine at the implications. They need to point Hank and the others to where they are taken....

 

The pucca shell necklace comes to mind.

Nick angles his hand carefully and sticks two fingers into his back pocket to retrieve it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. If they discover what he's doing that is the end of his plan. It takes him a few tries. His fingers are still slippery with blood and once again that comes back to bite him in the butt. Anyway, if he hadn't loosened those ties earlier, he wouldn't even be able to reach as far as his back pocket right now.

 

Inconspicuously snapping the cord, passing the shells to Hanson without being seen.... It makes both their hearts beat in their throats, but the youth is brilliant (and most likely trained at pick pocketing) and manages to take the load without being seen.

A trail of small white shells is left. The last meters of forest track, up the stairs....

“Hey, why are you wriggling around like that, you little runt?!” The Geier on Hanson's right side suddenly screeches.

_Oh, no! If they search him now, they will find the shells!_

 

With an angry howl, whose single purpose is drawing attention, Nick bucks and barrels into the Geier closest to him. It takes the creature by surprise. The Grimm fights like a demon now that the remaining three try taking him down. He twists in their ever tightening hold, head butts one squarely into the jaw, breaking it. A pained howl, Hanson's huge, frightened eyes meeting his own as he turns around. He watches the youth throw the rest of the shells away unseen. Good.

Someone plunges another hypodermic needle into his neck. It hurts more than last time. He keeps fighting. His Grimm is fired up, makes resisting easier. But blackness pulls him under, anyway. Like quicksand, inescapable.

He needs to fight a little longer. Time. They need to play for time.

A vicious blow to the side of his neck. He crashes to the ground. His vision blurs. They are taking Hanson, who is putting up a fight of his own. Their shells are undiscovered still. He gazes up as the door of the cabin opens, but he is almost gone to the world.

 

The doctor from Folter Clinic. Her features are contorted in displeasure, she asks harshly, what's the matter, woging as she surveys the damage. Her cold, merciless eyes land on him, stay on him, promise him a painful death upon waking.

 

Nick loses his battle with unconscious to a feeling of cold dread.

 

>>>

 

At first there are sounds and feelings. The beeping of many machines, two people talking quietly, one voice cold and hard, the other with a sneering quality to it. He hears words, yet gleans no meaning. Everything is blurred... hazy.

Sensations distract him momentarily:

He is lying on a cool, leather padded surface... he is naked... almost naked... strapped to whatever he is lying on....

All too quickly those sensations become a thought:

_I am strapped to a table by five thick leather bands!_

 

He may be groggy but he knows where he's been taken and what is done here.

With this realization comes fear, gut-wrenching, bone chilling fear!

 

_Don't panic! Take stock of the situation! You are strapped to a table... operation table most likely. The bindings holding you... arrgh... are too sturdy to destroy by tearing. Stuck in your left arm is an iv needle connecting you to a drip... pumping God knows what into you. But you have regained consciousness, so it cannot be narcotics or sedatives, maybe saline solution._

 

Okay, frankly this is doing nothing to assuage his fears. He opens his eyes and finds all of his nightmares confirmed. Stuck in an illegal organ extraction lab, led by a bunch of unscrupulous murdering Geier, already on a table and set up to be....

 

_Oh God, don't loose your head now. Don't panic. Think straight. Concentrate on the voices, they might give you clues._

 

Focusing on words is much more difficult than it should be, even while dread practically freezes his brain.

_It's the drugs. I've been knocked out twice by them now...._

_Voices, concentrate on the voices!_

 

They are some distance away, discussing....

Discussing which organs to harvest and when! He needs to get away from here! He needs to save the children!

 

Nostrils flared he sucks in shallow, quick breaths, trying to stave off the panic engulfing him.

The cold, hard voice talks again. Dr. Levine, his memory supplies after some time.

“Next prepare the boy, who has come in with the Grimm. He is due to wake up in half an hour. He will be in a perfect state for organ extraction: still subdued but cognizant of everything that is happening.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

These words chill Nick to his very bones! Suddenly staying quiet has become the least of his worries. The urge to protect Hanson drives anything else from his half-drugged mind. He pulls at his bindings with renewed fervor, is hit by terror when it all sinks in.

 

_We are set up to die here! To be harvested while fully conscious!_

 

He raves like mad, the Grimm creature taking charge, actually creating a tear in one of the leather straps holding his arms down, reopening gashes on his hand and already chafed areas on his wrists. They become slick with blood, he doesn't stop. Blood seems to be everywhere: Rushing in his ears, pumping through his wildly beating heart, trickling out of him, where he is wounded.

And at the very back of his mind there is a plan:

_Distract her from Hanson. Play for time. Hank isn't stupid, they will have been gone to Folter Clinic by now and gotten their location. They cannot be long...._

 

“Wait. Don't bother with the boy. It seems the Grimm has woken up earlier than we thought he would. I will take him first.” Her tone is detached and clipped. She is used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

She comes over to him with slow, measured steps, calm in face of his rage.

 

“Good evening, Detective Burkhardt. We haven't expected you to wake up so soon after we were forced to sedate you earlier but it is a welcome sight.”

He jerks his head around to where she is standing in her green, immaculate op attire. It is a fucking joke. Immaculate and Dr. Levine don't go together.

“You... my coll'ges know whe' we ar'.”

His tongue is heavy like lead, feels like a foreign object that he can control only with difficulty.

_Fucking drugs!_

“Ah, yes. Your colleagues. I fear you are misinformed. Gerard told me you have been taken before you could alert your partner and that stupid girl does not know where our harvesting site is located. I am afraid, Detective, you are on your own.”

 

_She doesn't know that we've been on to the clinic already. This is good...._

 

“Let's not stall any further. I have a schedule to keep.”

She pulls over a tray with instruments, looking down on him in a cold, detached way. Nick's mouth goes dry as dust.

_Help! Help! No!_

The doctor takes up a syringe and a small glass container, filling half of the syringe's body with the solution, and all the while she calmly explains what will happen:

“What I will give you now will make you less susceptible to fight back while leaving you with complete ability to feel and perceive what's going on around you. You see, the more the host suffers the higher is the potency of extracted organs... and I will make you suffer, Grimm.”

For the first time true, vicious fire enters her dead eyes.

She connects the syringe to the iv drip, pushing the drug into his system. There is nothing Nick can do and already he feels his limbs grow heavy as lead. He shakes his head weakly.

_No, no no, NOO!_

“I will start with your liver and go from there.”

 

>>>

 

Hank, Renard and a dozen fully armed officers get out of their vehicles and spread out around the area like a silent, deadly force. People they meet are disarmed and taken into custody, if they surrender ,and incapacitated quietly, if they show signs of putting up a fight.

Hank and the Captain make their way directly to the assortment of buildings in the center. It is a creepy place. The fire pit, the knowledge what goes on behind closed doors.

_Where are Nick and the others?!_

They communicate silently, both finding disquiet and worry mirrored in the others face, yet keeping a cool head.

“Captain.” A low whisper. Hank points at something small and white on the ground. Pucca shells spread in a trail leading up to the largest building.

“I know these. Nick had a necklaces made of them.”

Renard gives a short nod, motions more men to follow them and makes his way upstairs with Hank right beside him and his gun at the ready. They enter a nightmarish world that makes one too many horror film scenario become terrible reality. Dozens of beds with drugged out teenagers in them, already harvested organs kept in large freezers, people running about, fleeing from incoming swat troops. Chaos.

 

A pained cry from farther within has Hank and Renard exchange a truly disturbed glance and move on all the faster. That has been Nick sure as hell!!

 

>>>

 

She takes up a scalpel, makes sure that he sees what she has in her hand and sets it to his naked stomach. Nick is absolutely frantic, tries tearing free of his restraints! His limbs don't obey him, not like they should. Adrenaline and a Grimm's metabolism burn through the drugs incredibly fast, but it isn't enough! He cannot do anything!

He cries out when the Geier begins making shallow incision low on his stomach. Her hand is steady, her gaze fixed to her instrument but sometimes it flickers up to his face, taking in his pain, his terror.

“Portland PD! Freeze at once and put your hands up!!”

Renard! This is the Captain shouting. He has his gun pointed at her, only a few meters distance between them. Doctor Levine freezes in her work, eyes flickering behind her to the huge, well built, deadly looking man with the gun. A second one, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered, is next to him with his gun also pointed at her.

 

Nick knows he should try to follow what is going on but he can only stare at his stomach, at blood slowly oozing out, at the scalped still set to his skin.

 

>>>

 

Renard spots them, worst fears confirmed!

There they are. The doctor, clad in full op attire, is slowly making a cut into his Detective's stomach. Nick, deathly pale, eyes wide with terror, is fighting against his restrains with desperation. His face is scrunched up in pain, jaw muscles set.

 

He perceives all this in only a few seconds and from there on Police training takes over:

Taking a single step to the left, opening Hank's line of sight and fire. Training his gun at a point right between her shoulder blades, shouting at her to freeze and raise her hands. She stops dead in her tracks, then slowly puts up her hands. Scalpel in one hand, thin trail of blood trickling down.

_Not a deep incision then. Thank God._

He orders her to put down her instrument. She moves but not to obey his order! He fires his gun, Hank does as well. Once, twice. She is too damn fast, dodges the bullets, slashes her scalpel across Nick's stomach and vanishes into the labyrinth of heavy plastic curtains.

Nick screams, Renard rushes over to him while bellowing at Hank to follow her.

He looks down on Nick's stomach, endlessly relieved to see no bowels peaking out. The cut has been vicious and long but not overly deep, designed not to kill but to force him into remaining with Nick instead of following her.

He takes some large sterile gauze pads and presses them onto the wound. Nick hisses in renewed pain.

“I know, Nick. This hurts but I need to staunch the bleeding. It's okay. Your wound isn't fatal.”

Slowly the Grimm comes out of his terror induced haze and thinks like a cop again.

“Hank!... Hank... he... needs to be... careful!!”

“He is a well trained cop. He will manage.” Renard assures him but Nick is not to be appeased.

“Noo! She... dangerous! He doesn't know!!”

Eyes dart around in a frantic manner as if he could spot Hank and help him, if only he tried hard enough.

Ah, now Sean gets what he is on about. He is trying to tell him about her being a Geier without actually revealing anything about wesen. Sean decides to take a gamble. He lifts one hand off the wound, gently taking Nick's jaw and making sure those gray eyes are focused solely on him. When he has his full attention he says very slowly:

“Nick, it is okay. I _know_ about her. I can assure you, Hank will manage nonetheless. He is a good cop.”

The Grimm gives a jerky nod when his jaw is released. He doesn't know for sure, if Renard has been talking about wesen, but despite everything he believes him.

“Good. Now we will see about getting you out of here.”

 

Sean would have thought this would calm his Detective down, but it has the opposite effect. From one moment to the next here is an explosion of movement and Nick starts tearing at his restraints like mad. Deeply distressed sounds, gaze clouded by nightmarish memories. Renard feels more wetness beneath his hands. Damn it! A wound caused by a razor sharp knife never takes kindly to these things.

 

>>>

 

Nick has only one thought:

_I need to get free! These bindings held me in place while I've been cut open, I need to get free!!_

“Nick, stop it!! You are further injuring yourself. Stop! You are safe. I will help you get out of these, but you need to keep still!”

Renard's command pushes through the fog of pain and fear like an inescapable force. There is something about it, that makes him obey. Panting he stares up at the man and finds – for the first time since working for him – his expression openly showing concern and his very own measure of disturbance at what has transpired here.

“I will get you out. Just keep still.” He says, calmer this time.

Nick gives another jerky nod and watches transfixed as the thick leather bands – some smeared with his blood – are opened, finally releasing him. His first instinct is to get off that fucking operation table but Renard stops him with a hand on his chest.

“Wait. Your wounds and the iv drip....”

Wrong move. Survival instincts kick back in, strengthened by his half-drugged state. With a roar he slaps away the Captain's hand and rolls off the table. His legs get tangled in the sheet still covering them. He crashes down in a heap, crying out when the needle stuck in his arm is ripped out forcefully. He makes to turn, scramble up and escape, but large hands catch him around his shoulders and Renard's concerned face appears directly in front of his own.

 

“Stop it now!!” His order is so forceful, so urgent, that Nick actually complies. Panting harshly he stares at his superior. The man is crouching to be on eye level.

“Shhh. You are safe now. Just calm down. You are injured. I need to put something on the wound.”

Nick is visibly shaking now. No wonder. He is in shock, he is clad in only a pair of boxers and it is cold in here. Once he is sure the Grimm won't bold at first chance, he roots through supplies until he comes across more gauze pads, tape and bandages.

He crouches back down next to his Detective, catches his gaze once more and calmly tells him to sit back. He isn't stupid enough to order him back onto that table but he needs room to do at least general first aid.

 

He spots paramedics arriving but gestures at them to stay away because Nick would just panic again, if they appeared moments after some psychotic killer in op attire has tried to kill him.

 

His Detective follows his every move when Sean presses gauze to the steadily bleeding wound, tapes it in place and finally applies a tight bandage. Next are his right hand and both wrists, cut open or rubbed raw in the many struggles he has fought today. True, his work lacks a bit of refinement but it does the trick.

 

After Sean has also put his long coat around Nick's shoulders, he does look a little bit better.

“Feeling more like yourself?”, He asks quietly, business like tone restored. This gets him a nod and the first clear gaze ever since they have found him.

“What about Dr. Levine? And Hanson... the other victims?”

 

As if on cue Hank jogs over. His hand is wrapped up in a bloodied cloth of some sort but otherwise he looks fine.

He tells them about his fight with the doctor and her end in the fire pit, about the teenagers being weakened, some severely traumatized, but all of them alive. Hearing about perps, victims and about apprehending criminals makes Nick's Police training kick back in. He stops shaking and his heartbeat slows down.

“Suffice to say, she won't commit any more murders. Good work”, Renard concludes Hank's tale.

“Get your hand seen to, Griffin, then make sure the perpetrators arrive at precinct in orderly fashion. I will oversee the victims being brought to hospital.”

Hank and Renard exchange a glance that they assume goes right over his head. Well, it doesn't. Nick knows that he needs medical treatment and that his partner and boss won't stop worrying until that has happened.

 

Coming face to face with paramedics after what has just happened isn't anywhere on Nick's list of favorite things but he has enough sense not to argue. Instead he shows them a brave front, even smiling a bit and letting Hank tease him.

“I've gotta go. Be a good lad and do what the Captain says, partner, and call once you're through with treatment, okay?”

“Okay. See you later.”

Hank rises from his crouched position.

“By the way, Hanson is still groggy but he has asked to see you. Seems he has overcome his initial misgivings about cops.”

 

>>>

 

Sean watches his Detective with carefully veiled concern. As long as Griffin has been there he has seemed well enough, but now he looks pale, exhausted and still half caught up in the nightmare he has lived through.

 

“Come on, Nick. The boy asked for you. Let's get you to him and to paramedics to have you checked and treated.”

He takes a much gentler tone than is his habit when talking to his subordinates but recent events call for an exception as far as the zauberbiest is concerned. Nick looks up at that, momentarily unable to keep a haunted expression off his face, but regains his equilibrium after an instant. It's all too clear, anyway, that the thought disturbs him.

 

Once again Renard throws his usual distanced act into the wind when addressing Nick. Today – with one of their own injured and traumatized – normal rules do not apply. He puts a hand on his shoulder, keeping it there while he speaks. The fledgling Grimm makes no move to shake it off, almost leans into the touch even, which is unusual in itself.

“You are aware that your injuries need more treatment than my hasty patch up, aren't you?”

“Yes, Sir. I know the... the cut is pretty long and nasty.”

This is better. Nick is slowly finding back to his normal self.

“That's certainly one way to put it. Let's get you up and over to the boy and paramedics. Show him that he has nothing to fear. There _is_ nothing to be feared... for both of you.”

Sean helps him get up and only steps away when he is sure that his Detective can stand without aid. He has paled a good bit but makes an effort to keep upright.

“Alright. Let's go. It's not far.”

Nick gives a small nod and they start their slow march outside.

 

>>>

 

Nick does his best to push away what has happened. Renard's presence helps somewhat and he is almost able to tell himself that he is okay. That is until he sees the waiting ambulance with its instruments, machines, gurneys and medical personnel. He stops dead in his tracks before he knows what he's doing. Just like that it's all back. His heart beating in his throat, the sheer terror.

The Captain will have none of it, he knows that all too well and feels his presence directly behind him. A shiver runs down his spine that has nothing to do with the man. He half expects to be quietly scolded and pushed forward but that never happens. He's glad for it. He doesn't know what he would have done but freaking out is very high on the list of probable outcomes.

 

Renard steps in front of him now, blocks his view of the ambulance with his tall, imposing body and looks down on him with a neutral expression, no reproach, no disappointment.

“Detective, show that boy that he has nothing to fear. Get yourself checked out and thereby assuage his fears. Nothing bad is going to happen. Show him that, okay?”

Nick is sure he has never heard that tone from Renard before. It is deeper, more soothing, yet not loosing any of its professionalism.

_Help Hanson. He needs you now. A purpose._

It is as easy as that.

“Of course, Sir. You are right.” He gives a short nod and walks on, with the man right beside him, never straying away. Half way to the waiting ambulance a realization makes Nick feels a tiny bit better:

 

_Renard does the exact same thing he wants me to do for Hanson._

 

>>>

 

“Hey, Hanson.” He climbs into the ambulance with only a token of hesitation and the slightest wince, focusing on the kid on the gurney, who is already being attended to, and squeezes his hand in reassurance.

“See, we made it out of there, after all. A little... worse for wear maybe, but we've made it all the same. Gracie will be waiting for you in hospital and all those thugs will be facing very long charges in prison. They are rounded up as we speak and, believe me, my colleagues don't take kindly to anyone hurting kids.”

Hanson gives a shaky nod and squeezes his hand in return. The man sitting by the teen's head and preparing an iv drip looks like he wants to continue treating him, so Nick exchanges a glance with him and gives a silent nod. The man answers with a small smile, that shows appreciation for what Nick has done and makes his sharply cut, serious features loose some of their stern.

The urge slap the needle out of his hand in order to protect Hanson is still only a step away but Nick reminds himself forcefully that this is a good guy and that the kid probably is in dire need of whatever the medic intents to give him.

 

_Now it is your turn, Nick. Just sit on the damn gurney and let them do their duty!... For Hanson's sake. Show him that there's nothing to fear._

 

A last glance to check with Renard, then he takes heed of his inner prep talk and sits down on the seat beside which another, younger paramedic is patiently waiting. Nick puts on a brace facade but no matter what, deep down he knows, that it's only for Hanson's sake and Renard's presence that he stays silent and non violent throughout his check up. He is asked questions about his injuries and a load of other things, answering them mechanically, hiding behind rattling off facts and observations just like when he's reporting to his superior. Of course they take up on his barely veiled agitation. It is just under the surface of his paper thin control, flickering to life at any sudden movement or unexpected touch.

He waits for check up and treatment or (the worst of all) some attempt to medicate him, so what happens next, is unexpected:

Instead of going on right away his paramedic cocks his head and cracks a half-smile at him, that is genuine and doesn't want to fit the horrors of this night in any way. It pulls Nick out of his simmering panic with surprising ease and when those keen, brown eyes catch his gaze, he is able to return the gesture with a shadow of his normal self.

“I am Liam, ex-marine and now paramedic of yours truly. That serious looking guy over there is Seth, emergency doctor and my bossy partner. Anyway, you look like a guy who has faced his fair load of shit tonight, so let's make a deal. We won't strap you to a gurney – at least not all the way – or try sticking needles into you, but you have to let us take a look at you.”

His gaze remains steady and calm as Nick's own drills into him to gauge the verity of his statement. The Grimm throws a last glance at Hanson, who is now resting calmly and being further soothed by the low murmur of... Seth's deep voice, and makes his decision.

“Okay. I... can do that.”

“Good, then let's see what damage that bitch did when taking a slice at you.”

This is whispered in an effort to keep both the teen and his partner from hearing his less than appropriate way of speech. Honestly, Nick has never met a paramedic quite like him, but in a weird way he inspires trust.

 

Check up and re-bandaging is still hell to go through. Nick manages only by tuning out most of what Liam does and, sensing this, the medic doesn't try engaging him in further talk. So far everything has gone well. Only when he asks him to lean back for a moment so that he can be buckled in for the ride, does his cooperation end. Every muscle in his body tenses and cold sweat breaks out on his brow and neck. He even throws the man an apologetic look yet cannot do a thing about his rising panic!

 

_They are not going to harm you. It is standard procedure to keep you from toppling off the gurney on the ride...._

_The last time you were strapped to something a murderer tried to cut you open and take out your organs while you were watching...._

 

He doesn't react to Liam's attempts of talking to him, fully occupied with not actively pushing him away. Renard's form appears in his field of vision while his paramedic retreats to the background. Nick suspects there has been some form of silent communication between the two but he doesn't care as long as Renard remains by his side.

Nick looks at his Captain with wide eyes, silently asking him to take the decision out of his hands. He _knows_ that it is necessary to be secured in some way, he wants to cooperate even, but he simply cannot bring himself to do so... not without incentive from his Captain, anyway. There is nothing but calm reassurance in Renard's steady gaze. He leans down to him and starts speaking in such a low tone that only Nick can hear him:

“Detective, let them do their job. It's okay. You are safe. I will personally make sure you stay safe. It is just what they have to do and I know you want to stay calm for the boy's sake. You can do this. Oh and Nick... (He presses something rectangular into his hand.) spare phone. Speed dial 1 is Hank, speed dial 2 is my number. Until you get your original one replaced, hmm?”

“Thanks.” Nick whispers and means more than just giving him the phone, then he just closes his eyes as Liam covers him with a blanket and fastens safety buckles over his legs and up to his waist. Renard's hand, a steady weight pressing down on his shoulder, enables him to keep still throughout. When it's done he throws his paramedic another apologetic look but Liam just waves it away with a grin.

“Don't worry, buddy. Once upon a time I've been injured on a mission. Took more than one guy of my unit to get me to calm down and be all nice and cooperative. I know how you're feeling.”

His weak smile may not be much but the young ex-marine returns his gaze with the knowledge how damn difficult even that little gesture of goodwill has been.

 

On the drive Nick concentrates on what Renard has ordered him to:

Reassuring the boy, who looks still a little unsettled despite being sedated, most likely because sedation in itself doesn't bear fond memories for him either. He talks quietly to him and, after checking with Seth for an okay, takes hold of his hand for the rest of the ride.

Calmly he repeats that Gracie will already be waiting for him and that he has been brave and aided their rescue by dropping that trail of pucca shells.

Nobody who has not witnessed what's happened beforehand would be able to guess that the young Detective is anything other than calm, and when he catches Liam's and Seth's eyes at some point, there's a fair bit of respect gleaming in their eyes.

 

>>>

 

In hospital Seth takes right over, making sure that Hanson is in capable hands while doing treatment of Nick himself after a few quiet words exchanged with the doctor on duty in ER.

Persuading him to let him draw a blood sample for toxicological tests is hard work, especially with that Captain of his out of the picture. Of course he could have subdued him with the help of an orderly and forced him into submission but that would have meant a load more damage than gain. He's learned fairly quickly that Nick is a reasonable guy when he's not just been attacked by a psychotic killer, so he explains patiently and waits for him to cooperate on his own.

 

He even takes it in stride when Nick asks him to only numb the area for cleaning and stitching instead of injecting him with painkillers on top of it, and he's seen and heard enough tonight to know the reason for this request. He cautions him that there will be some pain despite the numbing, increasing especially later on, but respects his decision and leaves it at that.

 

>>>

 

With treatment completed (or rather sweat through) there's nothing left for Nick but sit on some curtained off bed in ER and wait for his blood results to come back. They need to wait for that to decide what they can prescribe him and what not, or if he has to stay overnight.

With a fair bit of embarrassment he remembers another near panic at the prospect of staying at hospital until tomorrow. Dr. Garreth has quirked a small smile, that's once again transformed his stern expression into something more approachable and assured him that he would do his best to get him discharged this evening... albeit against his better judgment, he had added.

 

He calls Juliette and leaves a message when there's only the tinny beeping on an unanswered call. Hiding his disappointment as best as he can, he tells her that he's in hospital to be checked and treated and won't make it home until later.

His need to talk to her borders on desperate, leaving him hollow and sad when she neither takes up nor makes any attempt to call back. Pains and aches from the night's ordeal don't lift his mood any. He is bruised, cut, chafed in places and he has a bloody headache from whatever is still running through his system. Being a bit unsteady on his legs as soon as he attempts to stand is ignored in favor of calling Hank.

“Hey, Nick. You holding up alright? Shall I pick you up or will Juliette do that? If you aren't staying overnight, that is.”

His partner's tone makes clear that he is torn between wanting him to remain at hospital and knowing what that would do to him mentally.

“Actually I'm waiting to be discharged. They need to see my blood results before they can do so. Juliette... to be honest, she's not taking up her phone, so I would appreciate a ride home.”

Hank does the diplomatic thing and doesn't ask further questions.

“Sure thing, partner. If things here take longer than anticipated I'll send one of our trusted colleagues to pick you up but I'll try to be there myself.”

“Thanks, Hank. Do you need any help at the station? I could....”

“Nick, don't even think about it. You did more than your due part tonight, you know? I've talked to a lot of people by now and more than one said, you kicked up a true ruckus to distract that psycho doc from laying into the teens. Believe me, you have done all and more than what's in our job description.”

“Thanks.” If this time Nick's voice is just a bit hoarse from emotion Hank doesn't mention it.

“See you later, buddy.”

“Yeah, see you later.”

 

>>>

 

Nick must have dozed off at some point – although he would swear to being unable to relax for even a moment – because he doesn't notice the Captain's presence until he clears his throat. He flinches back in surprise, grunts in pain from pulling his stitches and looks at his superior with an uncomprehending expression.

“Where's Hank?” He asks groggily. Renard shows the smallest of smiles at his haziness.

“Doing his best to wrap up the case. He sends his honest regrets, asked me to fetch you and to tell you, that he's seeing to it that – and here I quote – 'everyone of those sick bastards gets his due'.”

Nick manages a tired smile at that and finally remembers his manners: “Sorry for... my less than friendly reception. Guess I'm a bit out of it. Errr, you don't need to do that, by the way. Drive me home, I mean. Surely you have enough work as it is. I can take cab to the station.”

“The station, Detective? Haven't you been through enough today?”

Renard pins him with a no-nonsense look.

“Not if I can help Hank at station.” Nick replies, tone somewhere between determined and petulant. The Captain sighs, looks a touch sympathetic even, but shakes his head in the end.

“Let me take the decision out of your hands, Nick. You've been abducted, drugged, and nearly killed tonight. You will do _nothing_ other than rest. You are on sick leave. I will take you home now and I don't brook arguments on the matter. Am I understood?”

Nick may be stubborn but he knows the Captain's tone of voice when he'll accept absolutely no bullshit.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. You might be glad to hear that I also have a change of clothes for you. Hank said, the two of you took to stashing a spare into your respective cars after the last time both of you went for an involuntary swim.”

Oh yes, Nick remembers that one. He's grateful, anyway. That flimsy hospital gown and socks of unknown origin have lost their appeal long before he has even pulled them on.

“You are a life saver.... Well, obviously, seeing what you did earlier but... this as well. Thanks.”

 

>>>

 

Fumbling with his door keys while Renard waits just a step behind, silent and unmoving like a stone statue, is awkward to say the least, but Nick cannot seem to get the hang of it tonight. On the car ride he has dozed off again and hasn't been able to shake out of his half asleep state ever since.

“Damn it! This is ridiculous!”, He curses fiercely under his breath, growing cognizant of Renard taking keys and opening the door only when the man takes his wrist and gently pulls him inside. Nick stares dumbfounded while he trots after the man. His cheeks heat in embarrassment, making for a stark contrast to his overall pallor.

“Nick, you are exhausted and injured. Don't read too much into being a bit clumsier than usual.”

“Yes, Sir.” An automatic response. Nick shuffles into the kitchen while Renard politely waits in the parlor.

_Where is Juliette? I want Juliette... more than anything else right now._

A note written in her neat script answers his question. When he's finished reading, his eyes swim and he swallows thickly, trying and failing to get rid of the sudden constricted feeling in his throat.

 

Juliette is fed up with never seeing him, she has gone to a friend for a few days.

 

He blinks heavily, feels violent shivers start up at the prospect of spending this night alone... of spending his foreseeable future alone, if Juliette decides she doesn't need a break but a clean cut. He wants to weep, his headache nearly kills him and he still needs to face Renard, thank him for his effort and send him on his way to a well deserved bit of rest.

He crumbles the note in his fist and stuffs it into his sweatpants pocket.

 

>>>

 

“Does Miss Silverton know what's happened? I'm not overly comfortable with leaving you alone after what's happened, so if....”

“Oh no, Sir, it's alright. Juliette... she will be home soon and I'm just going to lie down until she does.”

The Captain doesn't look entirely convinced but in the end he gives a curt nod.

“Alright. I have your medication bag here. You seemed hellbent on leaving it on your hospital bed, so I took the liberty of bringing it along."

Nick blushes, Renard smirks, jade green eyes never leaving his own and drawing conclusions from what he's seeing.

“Errr, that... yes. So... what's in it?”

Humoring him, Sean pulls out two bottles and takes a look.

“Pain killers and sleeping pills by the looks of it.”

Nick shudders violently at hearing about the second.

Drugged sleep, no thank you!

"No, really, no sleeping pills required. Actually, I'm good now. No need to give up even more of your evening...."

He makes for a hasty retreat and nearly takes a dizzy tumble for his troubles. Renard is at his side at once, taking his arm to keep him from falling.

“We'll leave the tranqus out for now but you'll take something for the pain. While I acknowledge that part of your pallor is attributed to recent events, I am not blind and know that you are trying to hide quite a bit of pain from me. Now lead the way to your bedroom.”

There's no escaping the Captain's uncompromising stare. Nick hangs his head in defeat, embarrassed at being found out and at needing the man's support to stay upright even now that his unrest has abated a bit.

He gestures vaguely in direction of the stairs and makes no further protest as he is led to his bedroom.

 

>>>

 

Nick is send to the bathroom with firm instructions of washing up, changing into something comfortable and, for the love of God, please call, if things start going downhill.

 

Speaking of things going downhill:

He is standing in front of his bathroom mirror, naked from waist up, staring at his blood smeared, chalk white self and gripping the edge of the sink like a life line. Inside the basin lies a bar of soap, that's slipped out of his hand when his grip around it has become white knuckled. He doesn't pay it any heed.

Blood is rushing in his ears, his heart beats in a crazy staccato and if he doesn't get a grip on visions of dead, organ divested teens or his own stomach gaping wide open, he will collapse right here and now.

He tries sucking in a breath, tries blinking his eyes to rid himself of the images....

Nothing works, his tongue seems tied as well. He squeezes his eyes shut, sucking in another harsh breath through his nose.

 

>>>

 

It's been Sean's intention to wait at a discreet distance to the bathroom until his Detective emerges from it, make sure he gets into bed safely and then take his leave. When a few minutes become the quarter of an hour the zauberbiest gets restless. When he notes a dull clank of something hard against the surface of the sink he waits, tense and ready to move, but only when the sound of Nick's fast, irregular breathing can be heard all the way through the closed bathroom door, does he take action.

 

>>>

 

_Come on, get a grip! It's over. I'm alive! I'm... at the fucking end of my rope...._

 

He considers a controlled fall before his legs can buckle and send him crashing, but he is already taken by the shoulders and led away from the sink. His eyes snap open, a gasp leaves his mouth.

 

_Renard! It's only Renard._

 

He makes to wave the man away. God, this is so embarrassing! Renard stills him with a single steady gaze.

“I apologize, Nick. It isn't usually my habit to barge into an emplpyee's bathroom while he is washing but... I couldn't help noticing your distress.”

As he is gently pushed down to sit on the closed lid of the toilet seat, he regains some measure of calm.

“'m sorry, Sir. Normally... it isn't _my_ habit... to loose it in front of my bathroom mirror.... So... uhm... sorry.”

He squeezes his eyes shut again, this time from pain. Renard moves away.

_To go home? I hope not... I must be delusional but, hell, his presence helps. Ow, everything hurts...._

The tinkling of water, loud to his ears. Steps nearing again, a hand on his shoulder... pushing him back until his back comes to rest against he toilet tank. He winces but all in all relief of leaning against something solid beats the discomfort of putting weight on his bruised back.

“No need to be sorry. Now let's get you cleaned up a bit.” A soft murmur. Nick opens his eyes. Renard has squatted down in front of him to get on eye level, washcloth held lightly in his hand. His eyes ask a silent question. Nick hesitates, considers and finally nods.

 

Soft, damp flannel touches his face. Blood is cleaned away in even, careful strokes along with small dots of cold sweat. He huffs tiredly and just closes his eyes. God, he's in quite a state.

“I have seen the large bruise across your back. What happened?”

“Got hit with a metal bar... when they took us.”

At one point his jaw is taken – gently, without force – and his head turned to get a better view at the side of his head.

“Hmm. And this bruise here?”

Nick is silent for a moment, then answers in a mumble:

“Don' really know.... Maybe when... we fought at t' door. Pucca shells. Hanson needed time to chug 'em away.... Distracted 'em.”

“Ah, yes, that does fit the picture.”

While conversing with him, Sean keeps a close eye on his condition. Nick is growing increasingly hazy, exhaustion and injuries getting the better of him. He hurries up a bit with cleaning away the rest of blood and grime, before helping Nick into a shirt and up to stand.

It's time his fledgling Grimm gets some decent sleep. His unsteady gait while they cross the short distance from bathroom to bedroom speaks volumes and the zauberbiest stays near him in case of problems arising.

>>>

The Captain remains with him until he's made it safely to his bed and even helps him get down a decent dose of painkillers. Nick should be embarrassed. At this point he's just grateful.

“Any change of mind in regard to those sleeping pills?”

“Thanks... but no thanks. I've had it wi' drugged sleep tonight.”

The Captain inclines his head and Nick sinks back into the pillows, the feeling of loneliness momentarily soothed by the man's care.

“Thanks, anyway... for everything.”

“Your welcome. Call in tomorrow, will you? And call, should you require help with anything.”

Renard's voice isn't anywhere as detached as usual. It is deep... a low, soothing rumble. He closes his eyes and is asleep even before the Captain has left the room.

 

>>>

 

_There are sounds around him. He cannot place or attach any meaning to them. They are low, wailing, pained... enraged._

_He tries opening his eyes but his lids are heavy as lead just like his whole body. The sounds become clearer, become screams and cries as he fights his way to the surface of his conscious mind. His heart beats faster. He needs to see!_

_Finally! He's able to blink his eyes open. Bright, artificial light. Arrrgh. Blinding him. He wants to rub his hands over his eyes to clear his vision but his arms won't cooperate. Too heavy... no wait... held down. Held down by what? What's happening here?! Where is he?_

“ _I will start with your liver and go from there.”_

_What?! Wait!_

_He turns his head to the side, away from the light. Excruciatingly slowly. There's someone at the edge of his vision. Someone who makes his heart fill with terror!_

_He manages to catch a gaze of his arm...._

_And screams!!!_

_A loud, absolutely terrified scream, that catches in his throat halfway through._

 

_Corpses!! Living corpses! Missing eyes, missing organs, cut open, half decayed, enraged because of what's happened to them! They cling to his arms, his legs, hold him down while a shadowy figure looms over him with something gleaming in its hand._

_A scalpel! Noo!! He cannot escape, they hold him down, tear at him, hold him responsible because he couldn't safe them._

_He tries to call for help but not a single word will leave his mouth. A dead hand closes around his throat then, stopping words, stopping the very air from getting in!_

_The razor sharp blade comes down slowly. To his stomach, where dozens of decayed hands scrabble and scrape as if to mark the place, where she – a she – should cut._

“ _No! NOOOO!!!”_

 

Nick wakes with a hoarse scream, sitting bolt upright, only to fall back, twisting on the bed in agony!

_Help! Help! Nooo!! Oh God, ...hurts!! Stomach hurts._

The nightmare keeps him in its clutches just like the exploited corpses have done. He cannot breathe, is shaking uncontrollably and ready to throw up from sheer horror and pain.

In his mind one image hunts the next: The dead teens, bloody holes where eyes have been... where teenage life has resided. Reduced to unquenchable thirst for revenge. Blood everywhere. Pain... debilitating pain where the wound is low on his stomach.

He tries calming down, tries _thinking_ again, but he can only twist on the bed, sucking in wheezing breaths and holding his midsection.

_Help. Help!_

Paralyzed by terror he still tries to stop his heart from bursting right out of his chest.

_...Heart bursting out of my chest... wrong thing to think._

He scrambles off the bed in an undignified tumble and crashes to the floor, momentarily floored by a gut-wrenching streak of pain from pulling his stitches.

 

_Need to get... to the bathroom._

He makes it somehow, throwing up into the toilet bowl and whimpering every time he heaves, because of how fucking much it hurts.

 

After an eternity and some halfway decent breaths he all but crawls back to his bed.

He's never felt as lonely as right now, has never been as afraid. He needs... someone, because Juliette won't come.

He snatches up his spare phone right at the point where his breathing becomes shallow and wheezy again, pressing speed dial 2 before he is fully cognizant of what he's doing.

“Renard? Nick, it's four in the morning, what is the matter?”

_The Captain?... The Captain!_

He's unwittingly called Renard!

“Nick! What's the matter? You are breathing as hard as if you've just ran a marathon. What...?”

“Sorry... Sir. Didn't... didn't mean....”

He really, really cannot catch his breath.

“I'm coming over. Stay right where you are.”

“It's... no... oh.”

Nick closes his eyes as he shivers, protests petering out in face of having someone here with him to keep those horrifying images at bay.

“Okay.” It's barely audible but Renard gets it, anyway.

“I'm coming over. Try to calm down. I still have your key, I'll be right there.”

Despite everything Nick notes, that the Captain has never asked about Juliette.

 

>>>

 

By the time Sean arrives Nick has somewhat calmed down and is feeling completely ridiculous for calling him in that moment of headlessness. He hears measured steps on the stairs, tenses although Renard has announced his arrival upon entering the downstairs parlor and curses himself for being so weak.

Another moment of suspension, then his superior enters the room, cautiously, eyes going right to his shaking form huddled on the bed with his knees drawn up halfway to his chest.

The man isn't easily readable, not even for Nick, who is damn good at it, and not in his current state, anyway. To catch a flicker of worry on his angular features then, means he is deeply concerned and letting Nick see it on purpose.

“Sir. I'm sorry. Really, I shouldn't have called. It was a stupid spur of the moment thing when I wasn't even fully awake....”

Renard waves his apologies away, steps up to the bed and sits down at the end of it. Observant eyes rake over him, take in every sign of distress – of weakness as far as Nick is concerned. His stare isn't as piercing as usual but still he feels the urge to look away... does so with another flush of shame.

 

“Miss Silverton won't come home tonight, will she?”

The question takes him by surprise, makes his head snap up and reveal entirely too much to his boss. His heart starts beating faster again. Damn it, that bottomless pit of fear is like a shadow... always there and inseparably connected to him. Thinking about Juliette's absence brings back loneliness, ...brings back his nightmare in bright, real life color.

“Nick.”

His breath hitches. Surprise at being addressed, inability to admit to his failure just yet.

“How about you catch your breath to begin with? Just breathe, deep and even.”

The voice comes from directly beside him now, startling him badly but also pulling him from another episode of disquiet he has no recollection of sliding into. Renard is beside him, hand on his shoulder, capturing his eyes with a small, relieved smile. Nick tries to comply. He tells himself over and over again, that this is reality – being in a room with a living man instead of the living dead.

“That's it. Now, tell me what happened. And don't leave out the part of why you told me your spouse would be home by now when clearly she isn't.”

“I... I woke from a nightmare and... freaked out pretty bad.” He hangs his head, speaking to the covers now instead of his Captain's face.

“There was a note from Juliette in the kitchen, saying that she had decided to go to a friend's house for a few days.”

Sean doesn't need anymore details to spot the relationship crisis in here. Nick's lost, dejected expression says it all.

“Strain of the job too much? It happens sometimes. Being a cop takes up much of your time. Such things can create tension. Does she know about what happened to you?”

Half a shrug, half a nod.

“She... I don't know. She wouldn't take up when I called so I left a message. I... don't know.”

“Hmm.”

Time to move on to other matters. He beckons his Grimm to look up again with a light squeeze to his shoulder and takes another long minute to gauge the damage once he complies.

“Okay, that's something to think about when you are better. For now let's address more immediate problems like pain levels and the possibility that you've pulled your stitches while trashing.”

 

>>>

 

The damage to his stitches is minimal, thank God, but he is still wired up and skittish like a frightened animal. Renard takes it all in stride, calmly walking over to the bathroom and coming back with Nick's meds bag and a glass of water.

“Another dose of painkillers is in order, I think.”

He hands over two tablets and the glass, waiting for his Detective to swallow them down. He does so without protest, all too ready for the pain to dull.

“Good. Now the only remaining question: Do you want some sleeping aid or not?”

Nick refuses with an obvious shudder, Renard inclines his head. He respects his decision. If he had been through what his fledgling Grimm has had to endure, he would loathe to take them either. Still, something needs to be done and Sean will be damned, if he just leaves now.

Nick is still shaking quite badly, though entirely unaware it seems, and he has a seriously haunted, unsettled look about him. He is teetering at the edge of another anxiety attack, that much is clear at least to the zauberbiest. Sean won't let it come to that.

“I won't force you take any of them, but I won't leave you to your own devices either. Lie down.”

“What.”

Ah, there's a first sign of Burkhardt's usual self: Always questioning things, never blindly following orders.

“I think you heard me just right, hmm?”

His tone is almost gentle. This is not about reproach. Nick rubs the back of his head. He's uncomfortable and trying his best to hide it.

“I know I need to try to sleep at some point but it's okay, really. You don't need to.... I don't need to be....” He trails off, too embarrassed to go on.

“Tucked in?” Renard supplies calmly, to which Nick gives jerky nod.

“No, you don't. I am aware, but you won't sleep tonight if we don't do anything and I know what might help you.”

The zauberbiest sits down on the edge of the bed again and repeats his order for him to lie down. Nick hesitates. He really doesn't want to try sleeping just yet.

_It's not like he can control my dreams, anyway._

“What do you have in mind?”

It's a token resistance to the inevitable....

_Sleep. Nightmares. Death, decay, corpses, being tortured and made to watch helplessly...._

“Well, I do _not_ want to pounce on you in bed and ravish you.”

There's a good bit of haughty reproach in there but it also distracts him momentarily from another bout of rising panic. He blushes. Damn, it's happened again... just like it will continue to do every time he closes his eyes.

...And here We go again:

He cannot shake off his fear this time. It's like watching himself from out of his body and be unable to stop himself from hyperventilating.

“Nick, look at me!”

Both his shoulders are gripped firmly. He stares at Renard in a desperate plea. It's happened faster than he can fathom and now he cannot escape!

_Help! Please, help me!_

“Nick, come on. Focus on me and match me in breathing. In... and let it out. You are safe. It's gonna be alright. Yes, just like this. I'll help you calm down enough go to sleep without the aid of tranqus, but you need to trust me. In... and out. Deep, even breaths. I know that you want to trust me. You did so when you called me earlier. Alright. You are safe."

The haze of horror lifts slowly from his mind, leaving him feeling shaky and more than ready to do whatever Renard has in mind.

“Good, you are with me again. Now lie down with your head on my chest.”

Well, almost anything....

“What? Why?” Nick's words are barely a hoarse whisper. He stares at his Captain in confusion. The man is just scooting back to lean against the headboard and regards him with a small head shake and a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I'm not going to harm you. I merely intent to give you something to focus on. It shall assure you that you are in a room with a living being instead of corpses.”

Nick blanches.

“How did you know?”

Renard's assertion has hit a little too close to home for his liking.

“Just a lucky guess. That, and I've had my own fair share of gruesome experiences.”

The man smiles briefly before growing serious again.

“Now back to matters at hand. That focus will be my heartbeat. This is nothing romantic and nothing to be ashamed of, Nicholas. You have been teetering at the edge of a very real panic attack ever since waking up – and considering what's happened I can more than understand – but I won't have you sliding into one, if I can prevent it.”

Curiously Nick does not deny his words.

“Okay. I get that. Sounds... good actually. But why are you doing this?”

Sean hesitates. How to explain?

“I am your Captain and it is my responsibility to ensure your health and sanity. The method may be a bit unusual but so are the circumstances of what's happened to you, don't you think?"

Yes, Nick has to admit that tonight's event can be called surreal at best... the stuff nightmares, yet horrifying reality for him. He nods tightly, acknowledging the truth of his Captain's statement. The man answers with an entirely atypical, almost rueful quirk of lips.

"That, and after being attacked by some psychotic doctor, quite frankly, I am worried about you.”

 

It seems to be enough. Sometimes the truth gets you farther than all eloquence in the world could.

 

>>>

 

Mulling this over Nick finds himself accepting the man's reasons. He believes him and with a small nod he lowers himself gingerly to lie next to and half on top of his Captain. His tall, imposing, often aloof Captain, who should look out of place on his bed but somehow doesn't. It's weird, mostly because he's so... okay with it.

 

Ignoring the heavy blaze of pain that movement brings about, he places his ear against the soft fabric of Renard's sweatshirt, taking up the faint sound of a heartbeat at once. One of Renard's warm, large hands cups the side of his head now and presses him more firmly against his chest. It could be oppressing, degrading.... It isn't. That hand and steady heartbeat is more calming than anything he's tried so far.

 

The sound of a heartbeat grows louder and even more soothing. When the other arm comes around him to keep him from slipping off to the side, it feels natural and far from uncomfortable. Nick relaxes, listening to Renard's smooth, velvety voice coaching him through it all.

 

“Alive and safe. Focus on my heartbeat. Alive and safe. You are safe. Deep breaths.”

The zauberbiest is silent for some time then, allowing Nick to fully concentrate on listening, and only when he is focused, does he start talking again. He wants his message to be the last thing the young man hears so that he may take it to sleep with him.

 

>>>

 

“Alive and safe.”

Two heartbeats, a perfect match. Even without Renard's murmur he hears it now. Do-dong, do-dong. A-live and-safe. His eyes slip shut. He is beyond tired.

“You are doing well. Deep breaths. Listen to my heartbeat.”

He does. Steady, soothing, alive and safe. Exhaustion, a velvety voice, a steady beat beneath his ear. It all pulls him under like quicksand.

Sean continues his instructions long after they have lulled his young Grimm to sleep, knowing that the rumble of his chest as he talks adds another layer to a soothing, calming melody.

 

>>>

 

It's six in the morning and he is contemplating a stiff drink. The zauberbiest has just returned from his nightly rescue mission – the second one.

He's not sure what to think about recent events. The success of his endeavor to keep Nick sane? An accomplishment. His feelings on the matter or better yet his reasons for doing it?

Another thing entirely. He would like to tell himself that he's done it to bind the Grimm to himself, establish trust to inspire loyalty and service.

Allying himself with an uncorrupted Grimm? Yes, that would be a politically clever move even though it would cause irritation among his family.

 

But to be honest with himself, he's simply come to like the young man. Burkhardt is easy going, intelligent, dedicated to the job, a damn good Detective and most important of all: From what he's seen of his wesen related cases so far, he is a cop with access to Grimm powers instead of a Grimm with a cop's way of explaining away piling bodies.

 

Whatever has pushed him to drive to Nick's home twice in one night – or having a spare key made to the house without the couple's knowledge right after the Olec Stark case – he doesn't regret doing it. Neither of the two, actually. He has told the Grimm earlier that he still had his keys after dropping him off at home, which has been a lie. An entirely plausible one but a lie nonetheless. He can easily overlook the fact that he hid the truth from his subordinate. What is less easy to ignore is that persistent feeling of protectiveness... of concern even, that pushes him to impulsive behavior on occasion.

... Like slicing off a reaper's ear.

Yes, Nick is different.... A conscience and a badge, he has told the reaper earlier today. Different and distracting at times....

Why doesn't he stop and distance himself?

Well, there is, he can say in retrospect, quite another form of accomplishment to be gained from genuinely helping someone in opposition to having an underhanded scheme bear fruit.

Both are rewarding yet in totally different ways.

 

>>>

 

It's half past seven in the morning. Nick wakes up still feeling crappy but at least a bit clearer in the head. He rolls into a sitting position and looks around in confusion. He is alone in the room, which raises the question, if Renard's late night visit has been a figment of his imagination. Might be possible, too. He's been quite out of it. A note sitting on his bedside table persuades him otherwise at last. He would know that scrawl anywhere... it has covered the majority of his first draft reports in his rookie days.

It isn't a written tongue lashing this time. It's... a life saver.

 

Renard's note tells him in no uncertain terms that he is on sick leave and may attempt driving only if he desires a month's worth of cataloging case files in the archives, but it also says that - should he need to take his mind off things for a while - he may take a cab to precinct and do paperwork.

 

He dresses gingerly, mindful of his injuries in more than one way, and consciously distances himself from the horrors of what's happened to him. He misses Juliette with a ferocity that frightens him – recent events doing nothing to dim his wish for company – and it's not least this which cements his decision to take up the Captain's offer and go to work.

 

He calls a cab, once again using the spare phone Renard has given him yesterday. It will be at least 20 minutes before it arrives but he wants to get out into fresh air rather sooner than later. He's still fiddling with the keys and his jacket when he pushes open the front door, finally looks up and starts back as if from an apparition!

 

There is Juliette and she is staring at him. Long and hard, and while her hand goes to her mouth as if in slow motion, her eyes fill with deep sorrow.

“Nick, you... look terrible! Oh I've been so stupid.” She sounds meek and unsure.

“Juliette!”

The urge to step up to her to brush away her worries is nearly overwhelming but he stops himself because he doesn't know if she would want him to. Apparently she's spotted his gesture for her expression crumbles with regret. Before he can open his mouth to say something, she beats him to it:

“Nick, I am so sorry! I saw that I had a message in my mailbox from an unknown id and suspected it might be you but... but I didn't open it... because I was still so angry... but I did in the morning and... damn it, Nick, I should have been there! You've been injured and I've been... so stupid!”

He hears her words, tumbling out of her mouth in a rush, yet half of his attention is taken up by her beautiful, sorrowful eyes. They tell him more than anything else. He's always been able to see the world in her eyes....

He chokes up unable to help it.

“Juliette.” As clogged up as his throat is he barely gets the word out, but when he takes a single step forward, she rushes into his opening arms and takes away the need to say anything.

He winces when his wound is jostled but tries to hide most of it. Juliette sees it, anyway. Of course she does. Her gaze is questing when she searches him for signs of discomfort and finding traces brings emotions to her face that he's never wanted to put there: Guilt and self-recrimination.

He cubs her cheek tenderly with his much larger hand. Suddenly he needs to tell her a thousand things.

“Jules, don't. Please, don't beat yourself up over this. It's true that I've been injured on the job but... that doesn't make my actions right... or not happening. I'm sorry for not being home more often and for blowing our dinner plans. I may love my job but I love you so much more and I cannot put cases above you all the time. I'm... truly sorry....”

His voice cracks at the end, petering out just like the grip on his emotions. Tears, that he cannot hold in, spill over onto his cheeks. The strain of the last 24 hours, the horrible night, missing Juliette.... It all piles up now to overwhelm him.

His beloved redhead looks like she hasn't slept all that much either, yet in face of his control slipping it is her that cups his cheeks with her hands and brushes away tears.

 

He pulls her close, ignoring his fiercely aching midsection, and she buries her face in the crook of his neck and murmurs words to his skin, that make his knees weak with relief:

“Babe, I haven't only come back because you were injured.... I've... I've just realized that I've been unfair to you. I mean, yes, I was angry and it still isn't fun when you call off something that I've looked forward to doing with you, but I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I know that you need to do your job and six days out of seven I love you all the more for being as dedicated as you are.... In short... I have been an ass and... and....”

Seems not only his own emotions are running rampant. He wants her not to feel guilty over this anymore. He wants to protect and love her and pass the day cuddling on the sofa and being coddled just a bit, because this is the woman he loves and he is so insanely happy for the chance to see and touch her again.

“Hey, it's okay. We've both been idiots, haven't we? Come on, let's get inside and I'll call off the cab. I'm on sick leave, anyway, and you still have your day off today, don't you? (She nods against his hoodie.) Good.”

He smiles a watery, totally besotted smile, takes her face into his hands again and kisses her almost shyly as soon as she gives him silent permission to do so.

 

>>>

 

“Okay, what's happened yesterday? You look more than just injured, you look sick and like you've barely slept.”

There's no escaping her fiery, questing gaze.

“I've been wounded during the rescue mission for the kids. It's nothing...."

"Don't tell me it's nothing, Nick Burkhardt. I've seen the way you wince every time you so much as twitch. Please, let me take a look."

“It's not that b....”

She narrows her eyes and compresses her lips to a thin line. She means business. It quells any further protests and he lies back on the couch, where he's been sitting next to her. Ever the professional, she slips away to fetch their over proportioned first aid kit, before even coming near his bandaged middle.

Unwrapping and checking his wounds (a smaller one and a longer, both stitched and taped) doesn't take long. Comprehending why he has an injury that looks like it's been caused by a very sharp knife and made deliberately instead of in the heat of a fight takes a bit longer.

She may treat animals instead of humans and she may not be a specialist for criminal forensics either, but she has seen her fair share of wounds and one of the two cuts looks like... a cut she would make during surgery on one of the sick animals at her clinic.

She looks at him in deep disturbance.

“Nick, I know what that smaller cut looks like.... _What has happened_?”

Her voice wavers but there's also a healthy portion of determination. If he hadn't been so desperate to hide the gruesome details of last night from her, he would have smiled at her bravery.

 

“It's as I said. I got injured when we freed the kids and, yes, the wounds have been caused by a knife, hence the need for stitches, but that's it. It's.... (He represses a shudder but barely.) It's past now and the case is closed. We saved the kids.”

_Those we weren't too late for, anyway._

 

She watches his face closing off and knows there is a big portion he's not telling her. She won't have that. It is obvious that something truly unsettling has happened to him and she will be damned, if she allows him to smooth things over just to spare her feelings.

“Nick.” Chiding, gentle, making it unerringly clear that she won't take his crap. He swallows, closes his eyes and... actually shudders. She's never seen him like this, no matter how drastic the case he's been working. This is bad. If he's like this now, she cannot even imagine how bad his night must have been. The night she's been at Alicia's complaining to her about Nick putting work above time with her.

 

Her lower lip trembles as she slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, carefully and slowly so that he has time to adjust to the movement without jostling his wounds. At first he tenses but then with an explosive exhale he melts against her side near boneless and accepts her comfort. He's still tired, achy all over and, damn, he can never say no to her when she gets like this... feeling with him, taking things out of his hands when it gets too much... and just a bit bossy to push past his innate stubbornness.

He makes a last attempt, anyway. For her sanity and his own:

“Jules, I appreciate the thought but, really, you don't want to know....”

“Shhh. Just tell me. I've not been there when you needed me... I won't allow that to happen a second time around. I'm worried about you and I want to know with what I'm dealing.”

 

And then he tells her. Everything.

He feels numb while doing it. Numb because anything else might cleanly shatter him. He stares straight ahead, his voice the only indicator to what horrors he's lived through.

“I... woke up....” He swallows thickly and only gets out a hoarse murmur. Juliette doesn't push him. She is there, rubbing his back and ready to listen. A side ways glance from Nick, cutting straight into her with the depths of his trepidation.

“I woke up strapped to... an operation table and....”

She listens to his tale in silent horror, tears filling her eyes... spilling over onto her cheeks. She doesn't move to wipe them away. Her hands have something more important to do.

This is unspeakable. Inhuman.

...Oh, she doesn't know how right she is.

 

He goes on, haltingly, still overwhelmed from time to time, and at one point he slips down to curl up with his head is resting in her lap. He doesn't say a word, isn't able to express what he needs. It's okay. Juliette understands anyway.

He closes his eyes and takes a long, shuddering breath. This is what he has needed, _craved_ ever since he got home yesterday. His Juliette. Her warmth, her easy understanding. Everything. She takes it all in stride, strokes his hair and pulls him away from the endless, black pit he's on the verge of toppling into.

 

“Later at home... I woke up from that dream and... I just freaked out... completely. Then I called Renard. As you know he's dropped me off and helped me the first time around and... he really came and, God, he kept me from going crazy. I had just woken and I still must have had some of those drugs in my system. I scarcely knew what I had done until I heard his voice on line. I was embarrassed as shit but... it helped.... He helped and pulled me out of a full fledged panic attack... or more than one. Didn't force tranqus on me either or shipped me back off to hospital.”

 

A violent shudder goes through him at the very thought of it. He forces himself to go on, anyway. He even tells her what exactly the Captain has done to help him and he can see in her expression that she understands the action exactly for what it's been: Nothing sinister or romantic but an attempt so reassure a deeply frightened, traumatized man.

He knows that she is crying, too, but it's from endless worry for him instead of an inability to cope with events.

“Thank you for telling me all of it, love.” A whisper rough from emotion.

“And remind me (A watery chuckle.) to thank that Captain of yours. And... Nick, I'm so proud of you... and... oh, God, how much I want to hurt that sick woman!”

“Hey. It's alright. You just stay right here with me... that's all I need and want. Honestly... (He swallows around a baseball sized lump in his throat.) just stay with me, Juliette.”

She leans down to him and, cupping his face once again, kisses him tender and sweet before replying.

“Of course I will. Of course.”

 

For a long while they don't move, stay huddled close together, now more than ever desperate for each others company. Juliette cards slender fingers through his hair and strokes his face and back in a slow, loving caress. He soaks up her affection like a drowning man does air and a tiny part of him starts healing already.

 

>>>

 

Some time later he calls Renard to tell him, that he'll take the sick leave after all. Before he can end the call Juliette steps up to him and takes the phone with a small smile, half sad half mischievous. He doesn't know what she tells Renard as she leaves the room to do so but he has his suspicions as to what it might be.

 

Not five minutes later his beloved redhead reenters the kitchen, returns his cell and then ushers him over to the sofa to settle down. They watch something silly on tv, Juliette makes sure he gets proper meals and takes his pain meds at regular intervals and in the evening when he grows taciturn and restless she slips into bed with him, draws him close and aligns herself in a way so that Nick feels as much of her warm, living body as possible. He slips off to sleep with a mumbled thanks and with his nose buried against the side of her neck.

 

>>>

 

It isn't all well after that. Nick still has nightmares, will wake up with a scream on his lips and an image burned into his mind even months later. But from now on Juliette is there with him. When he starts trashing and moaning she does what Captain Renard has done in that first night. She pulls his head onto her chest and holds him close while he listens to her heartbeat – sometimes in sleep and sometimes upon waking. They work through it together just like they work on finding a new balance in their relationship.

 

>>>

 

Captain Renard is less of a distant figure now. He isn't only his aloof, stay firmly above things superior anymore, but a man who has feelings just like anyone else and has helped him when no one else has been there. Nick won't forget this night... not ever.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! That's it. It's done! By the way, one of my first stories that actually features Juliette (and as a positive character). After all the crap Nick had been through I needed them to have a happy end and show that they can be a cute and loving couple. We all make mistakes, we argue and then we make up. ; )  
> Renard isn't only the answer to (all) our dreams *swoon* but the answer to 'Everyone needs a hug sometimes' over on livejournal.


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